Last week I did something strange.
A friend of mine sent me a text Friday night and asked if I wanted to get together Saturday morning. She said she would even bring me coffee. Ordinarily, free coffee would make me do just about anything, but getting to hang out with my BFF and drink free coffee? Sounded like a slam dunk to me.
I looked at my phone and paused. Something didn’t feel right.
My kids had just returned from two days with my in-laws. They were in bed shortly after they arrived home that day so I hadn’t been given much time to be with them. I missed them.
Rather than text my friend back with an emphatic YES as well as my coffee order, I replied with, “Ya know, this is kind of weird… but we just got Lily and Levi back after two days and I think I really wanna just spend some time with them.”
That’s right, folks. I declined adult interaction and free coffee to hang out with Lily and Levi.
Well that’s weird. Continue reading
Confession: I’m a recovering mom-judger.
I used to roll my eyes when one more exasperated first time mom would ask, “How do I get my two-month old to sleep through the night?” I would be hard pressed to hide my surprise if another mom admitted the cornerstones of her kid’s diet for the last week was string cheese and chicken nuggets. I’d go home and tell my husband, “So and so lets her kids do x, y, and z. Can you believe it?” followed by the quintessential line, “I would NEVER let that happen.”
Yep. That was me. Judgey McJudgerson at your service.
A few nights ago when I was spinning around in my chair singing, “I’m not funny, la la la…” instead of writing, I started to wonder why I judged so much. I’m not a mean-spirited person. I genuinely like most of the people I found myself judging. I didn’t like judging them nor the guilt that came with it. So what was my issue?
And in a flash of insight not unlike Big Bird realizing he didn’t want a new habitat if it meant leaving his friends on Sesame Street, it hit me.
I judge because I’m insecure.
That’s it. Continue reading
1. Call the baby by the wrong name. Guilty. I’ve done it. My mom friend handled it well, but talk about embarrassing.
2. Ask if she can cover up while nursing. Breastfeeding is one of the most patience depleting, emotional wrecking balls New Mom will ever face. If she covers up on her own, more power to her. If she whips her boob out to feed her new baby and you’re uncomfortable, dismiss yourself to the kitchen and start loading the dishwasher.
3. Show up unannounced. Call or text first and ask. Aside from being sleep-deprived, exhausted, and sore, there’s a good chance New Mom is also half naked because why put the boobs away if baby is just going to want them again in five minutes?
4. Tell her to sleep when the baby sleeps. Maybe it’s just me, but I hated this piece of advice. Sure, I’ll sleep once all 84 burp rags are washed and put away, my kitchen doesn’t look like a FEMA zone, and my legs don’t bare a not so vague resemblance to Bigfoot.
5. Offer to hold the baby so New Mom can clean her house or shower. You have it backwards. You should offer to do the dishes or make dinner or fold laundry while New Mom enjoys precious moments with her new bundle of joy. Continue reading
I love bed.
I love sleeping, falling asleep, waking up and going back to sleep, all of it. Sleeping is one of the best ways I spend 5 hours of my day. I didn’t used to feel this way. In my time before kids, going to bed was just something my body made me do. And naps? Forget about it.
I love bed.
Lillian, for the most part, does not. Oh sure, there are nights where she asks to go to bed with her words. “Mom, night night.” There are also nights, though, when she tells me she’s ready for bed via an interpretive dance which includes, but is not limited to, screaming, flailing her limbs, chucking herself to the floor, and more screaming.
More often that not she knows that when I say it’s time for bed, it’s time for bed. She doesn’t pitch a fit, but she does attempt to find any excuse to prolong being lifted up into her crib. The conversation goes something like this. (I don’t write toddler dialect well so rather than have you try to decipher what she’s saying I’ll just put it in standard English.)
“Lils, it’s time for night night.”
“No, Mom! Daniel Tiger!”
“No, we’re done watching T.V. It’s time for bed.”
“No. No Jake and the pirates either. It’s time for bed.”
Her shoulders slump as she walks towards me, then perks up. Continue reading
The whole premise of this blog and my future book (assuming a publisher buys it) is the idea that I was completely unprepared for having kids. One of the things I had never thought about was “mommy guilt.”
Mommy guilt is an all consuming force that you can’t shake off or remove from yourself nor can you stuff it down with ice cream or Doritos. Once the baby exits the womb, mommy guilt rears its ugly head and perches upon your shoulder for eternity. My first moment of mommy guilt was when I had to ask Luke to change Lillian’s diaper in the hospital because I was a bit too sore to get out of bed. “I’m her mom. I should be doing this,” I thought as Luke changed her.
And so it begins. Continue reading